


The aftertaste is loneliness

by antheeia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/pseuds/antheeia
Summary: "Does it hurt?" he asks, and he looks at me straight in the eyes. My chest aches like someone just suddenly stabbed me — a familiar feeling, somehow, but this time I'm not bleeding.I don't really understand what he's talking about: my hand, or my heart?





	The aftertaste is loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> For my secret santa giftee~  
> I hope you enjoy your Ko dose!
> 
> *
> 
> Unbetaed, written in a hurry, all mistakes are mine (sorry about them)

Hajime Hinata's nature is that of an extremely ordinary person. And yet there was always something disturbingly extraordinary about him.

I knew as much.

I felt that since the first moment I met him.  
That is why I always thought he could never do anything more than tolerate someone as worthless as me.

I admire his hope.

As I look at him, his smile wide and sincere, I know he is special. That we share something, even though I can't quite put my finger on what. 

He holds my hand — the good one — and I feel my heart pumping faster. It's a curious feeling that is too ominously similar to happiness to ignore.

In that moment, I am scared. Not of the pain I will experience, but of the pain I will bring to him. 

*****

When Hajime first gave a proper look at my hand — _her_ hand— I could see the disgust on his face, if only for a fleeting moment. 

I know he tried to hide it.

I don't understand why he would worry about that. Someone like me doesn't deserve such courtesy.

Yet he does things for me all the time — small little things like that, and I can't help but feel that hopeful warmth in my chest.

I've come to hate it, that warmth.

It scares me because I know this is just the foretaste, and the aftertaste is loneliness.

*****

Hajime takes me by surprise when he takes my hand — the bad one — and pulls it closer to him. He's been insisting I accept to change it with a robotic prosthesis so that I can use it at least. But I am useless anyway, so I see no reason to waste resources on me.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he looks at me straight in the eyes. My chest aches like someone just suddenly stabbed me — a familiar feeling, somehow, but this time I'm not bleeding.

I don't really understand what he's talking about: my hand, or my heart?

I shake my head. He sighs, running his hand along the back of my own, then along my arm, until he grips my shoulder in a comforting gesture.

My chest keeps feeling hot like blood is pouring out of it at every frenetic beating of my heart, and I try to ignore it. The familiar fear comes to keep me company, it's like a voice in the back of my head that laughs at me and reminds me of the horrible misfortune I bring to everyone who cares about me.

I clench my fist until I feel the pinch of pain from my nails digging into the flesh. That's better.

Hajime doesn't notice right away, he's staring at my face and when I return his gaze his whole face flushes red.

I smile, just a bit. He's cute.

"Stop hurting yourself," he says, seriously. So he noticed? "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

I think about it. Do I hate myself? Do I hate anything or anyone? Do I actually feel things anymore? Or are all of my feelings just a desperate attempt to convince myself that I am capable to feel anything but the twisted shade of hopelessness and despair that hits me every time something good happens, in preparation of the bad that will follow?

"You shouldn't be concerned for me, Hajime."

"Well, I am. I care about you."

He blushes again. My chest won't stop burning and my eyes feel wet. I knew that, didn't I. I knew he cared, why would he put up with me for so long otherwise? And yet there's something about the fact that he's saying it, something that makes me feel like this. _Guilty_.

"Everything will be fine. Just rely on me."  
His hopeful words strike me. It's like he doesn't know me, like he doesn't remember anything that happened in the past. Is he naive, is he a masochist or is he just that optimistic?

I find myself laughing. He doesn't look taken aback or creeped out, but he has an uncomfortable smile on his face.

"Your hope shines so brightly, Hajime. I love it."

*****

He sticks by my side even more now. It's like I can't do anything without feeling his gaze on me. Sometimes I think I must be imagining it. Just because I stare at him all the time, doesn't mean he does the same.

Maybe I'm just convincing myself he's watching me when he's the same as always.

He pretends he likes spending time with me, but I know he hates me sometimes. I can tell when people hate me. Most of them do, even if just a bit. I don't blame them. I especially don't blame him.  
  
I died once — of course, I didn't really die, but it did feel like dying. I died and I remember that in that moment I felt lonely. Incredibly lonely.

I was determined, I wasn't scared, I was prepared to die — I still am, to some degree, I have been for a long while — but I was lonely. 

And while I waited for everything to end, the loneliness enveloped me whole until it was everything I could feel.

Since then, living has been different. It's like that loneliness still binds me, keeps me separated from everyone else, always a step away, like I am watching my own life from far away.

My greatest fear is dying alone.

I lived it once.

It didn't help.

I don't want to feel like that ever again.

I hope that I won't. But sometimes, my hope wavers.

I wonder if Hajime notices that. That would explain why he appears by my side every time it happens, every time my mind wanders. Or maybe it's just because he's almost always by my side.  
  
It's not the others dislike me, exactly. They don't, most of the time. When they don't hate me, they just feel uncomfortable around me.

Most of them anyway: there are exceptions.

I have friends now. I think.

Hajime keeps telling me that. That I am not alone. That they care about me. Fuyuhiko, Kazuichi. Him. The whole class really. He says that no one hates me, that I have no reason to think that.

I'm not sure.

I don't really understand how people feel, I only understand how they make me feel.

I tell Hajime that I might not understand how they feel, but I still know that people get fed up with me very easily.

He repeats that they care about me, that we're all friends.

But even if that was true, then no one cares as much as he does.

That's okay.

No one should, not even him.

*****

I thought he'd give up on me at some point.

He never did.

He's there, he tells me when to say sorry, and when to say thank you, he tells me to wash myself when I forget, he brings me food, he insists on cleaning my clothes. He takes care of me.

I feel grateful.

I accepted to get that robotic hand, in the end. It's cold and strange. I don't really like it, but it's better than _hers_. I was growing disgusted at the sight of it.

I know that having friends is a luck that will be taken away from me. It's just how it works. But their hope, their strength, their courage, I admire it. I want to cherish it.

Even if I should lose them — when I will lose them — that would only pave the way for more hope, for a bigger luck. It's my talent, I know that.

But it's difficult for me to imagine meeting someone that makes me feel like Hajime Hinata does.

Maybe he is the best I can get.

*****

"Let's get you into a bath. You neglect yourself too much."

That was what he said.

He usually just tells me what to do and lets me do it on my own, but this time he insisted he would help. No matter what I said, he wouldn't give up.

"It's unfair,” I murmur as he brushes my wet hair. He's desperately trying to unknot them, for some reason.

"What is?"

"That I have to be naked and you stay dressed." 

He stops. I turn inside the bath, to look at him, who's sitting right next to the tub. He’s blushing — he does that often, and for some reason it always makes me smile.

"We should bathe together."

He makes a face. It's an expression he often wears when I talk. I'm not sure about what it means, but I think it's something halfway between surprised and offended. Sometimes when there are other people, I say something, he makes that face, then apologises to them, putting his arms around my shoulder and bowing his head to the other person. But when we're alone, he just breathes deeply and moves on with the conversation.

"That's..." He clears his throat, and he doesn't seem like he will continue the sentence.

"You keep caring about me, no matter how worthless I am. Do you think that lowly of yourself? Do you, too, want to sacrifice yourself for hope? That's why you stay so close to me despite my luck?"

Half of my body is outside of the tub now, and water is dripping everywhere, especially on Hajime's slacks, on his thighs where I put my hands for support.

"Nagito. Stop that,” he says, but his voice doesn't sound as determined as what he says would require.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me.”

The room is warm, and the steamy air feels suffocating. Hajime’s face is a bright shade of red, and he looks away from me.

I can see his boner clearly through his soaked slacks. He must notice my gaze lingering on it because he clears his throat and tries to push me away.

“I’m sorry, I-”

I shake my head, smiling. “That's okay, Hajime. It's my fault and I will take responsibility.”

I will _gladly_ do that.

It's obvious now, that this is something we both want. And it's lucky that both our wishes aligned like this, isn't it?

I step outside of the tub, kneeling in front of him.

Hajime doesn't really object. He opens his lips to say something, but when I touch his dick through the wet clothes he just gasps for air. His eyes are closed when I start massaging it. I wonder if he'd like the feeling of cold metal jerking him off, but I’m not really into it so I decide against it.

When he opens his eyes again they look like liquid lust. Maybe I have the same look, it's hard to tell. My mind feels hazy, and it's so hot. It's hard to focus.

His fingers run through my hair as I pull down his pants. I stop to look at him, naked from the waist down, his dick hard, its head of a dark shade of pink. From my perspective, kneeling in front of him, he looks really handsome. Not that he usually doesn't, but in this situation I find myself noticing things I never had the chance to observe before.

I don't want to make him wait, so I wrap my hand around his erection and start jerking him off.

I place my lips on the head of his dick, licking tentatively. I keep licking when he moans, and the hand between my hairs starts pulling at them slightly.

He pushes me against his crotch and I take his whole length in my mouth, gagging on it a bit.

I look up at him and I feel like I'm melting. My stomach feels heavy, my body is feverishly hot and I’ve lost my mind to hazy desires.

His smell is nice and inebriating, a bit like his taste, and I almost shiver with excitement every time I breathe it in.

I close my eyes and concentrate, and I let his moans guide what I do. I don't open them until I’ve gotten used to the rhythm he seems to like the most.

When I raise my gaze again, I’m almost desperate to know that he is liking it, that he wants me to go on.

His expression of bliss is captivating.

I find myself moving like spellbound, automatically.

He whispers my name and keeps me still while he pulls out, and I moan in disappointment as he comes on my face.

It's warm and it smells.

I stay there kneeling on the floor for the longest time, just breathing and sealing looks at Hajime.

He’s covering his face with his hands, his head thrown back, his lips left ajar.

When he finally stands, I’m still where I was before, and I begin realising that my knees are starting to ache.

“I guess we both need a good bath, now,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

*****

I have come to learn that Hajime can be unpredictable. And sexy.

I find myself irresistibly captivated by the way he delicately but confidently pulls me into the bathtub with him.

His kisses are sloppy and intense, and I’m drawn into them right away.

It's relaxing, almost liberating, letting him lead me and do whatever he wants.

I close my eyes and I lose myself in his warmth, in his touch. I shiver when his mouth leaves my own and brushes my jaw, my ear and my neck. When he gets to my nipples, I can't help but moan and I hear his quiet laugh. I barely pay heed to what he whispers into my ear — a question, he’s asking if I’m okay with something, but I don't really care.

I just nod, and there's way more eagerness than I realised in my acceptance of whatever he has asked.

He turns me around and he's kissing my back now, and I shudder and quiver every time his lips brush against the knobs of my back.

I don't expect his tongue flicking against my entrance, and I gasp when I feel its wetness languidly sinking inside me, movements slow, hesitant. I’m not sure how I manage to hold back from begging for more.

I’m not even sure if I'm biting back my moans or not, I know I’m trying to, but it's getting increasingly difficult. I’m barely conscious of my body feeling like molten lava, while the thickness of the steamy air is starting to make me feel oxygen deprived.

He slips a finger inside me, hesitant, but I push against him, and I think I’ve never been this eager for something.

He arches his finger, tries different angles until my knees buckle and I hear myself moan lustily.

I call his name, quietly then loudly, and I don't even know what I'm begging him for.

When his hand closes around my erection, I barely have time to realise before I feel the orgasm rippling through me.

I feel his arms around me right before my own arms and legs collapse under my weight and I think I give him a grateful smile.

I’m not sure.

*****

I smell like him.

I lay on my bed, half dressed, hair still wet, and all I can think about is this intoxicating scent of his.

Hajime is dressing up, putting on his own clothes after drying them.

As I watch him put his T-shirt on, I get this sudden and violent awareness that the moment he leaves, I can't be sure if he’ll come back.

What I want has never been clearer to me. I want to make him satisfied — I know I can't make him happy. But most of all, I selfishly want him to keep taking care of me like he has been doing so far.

“Hajime.” He turns to look at me right away, and the fear of losing him is stronger than ever. “I’m worthless and useless, I know. But I’ll let you do anything you want to me, use me however you want…” my voice becomes a whisper. “Just don't leave. I don't want to be alone.”

I just don't want to face loneliness again.

I’m tired of it.

I just want to bask in the light of everyone else's hope — of Hajime’s hope — for a little bit more. Just a little bit.

Hajime stares at me, his lips thinning in an expression that looks terribly similar to the one he has when he's apologising.

In a couple of steps, he's next to the bed.

“Nagito,” he whispers, sitting next to me. “I’m not going anywhere.” He takes my hand. “I’m taking care of you, whether you want it or not. You don't have to do anything in exchange.”

I look at him, and for a moment I think I’m dying a good death, bleeding dry while I look at his soft smile, but despite the pain in my chest my heart keeps beating and my blood seems to be still all inside my veins.

I feel overwhelmed by the gratitude I don't know how to express.

Hajime places his hand on my cheek, brushing it delicately, and only then I realise they're wet with my tears.

“I never thought I would see Nagito Komaeda cry.”


End file.
